Guerilla Nuptials
by EternalOphelia
Summary: [Oneshot]. After the war. Hermione and Draco have a daughter, but are divorced. She's eleven and it's her first year at Hogwarts.


Haha. Here's another one-shot. Someone stop me:P

* * *

Guerilla Nuptials

Harry Potter walked leisurely down the halls of the Ministry of Magic, on his lunch break. Not that he or any other Auror had much to do nowadays. After Voldemort's defeat eleven years ago, they'd spent all that time rounding up his remaining followers. So, as far as they knew every known Death Eater was either dead or in Azkaban. There were still those scattered few who had switched sides during the war, but they were under strict Ministry observation.

The clock struck two and Harry was about to go back to his office, when he passed that of his best friend and ducked in.

"Morning."

"It's afternoon," Harry laughed. "Is something wrong? You seem distracted." He took one of the seats before the desk. "Marriage problems?"

"Well, seeing as I haven't been married in six years, I'm going to say no. Just plain old Draco problems."

"What's he doing now?"

Hermione sighed loudly and gestured to a framed picture on the windowsill behind her. Iola, Hermione and Draco's eleven-year-old daughter. She was a tiny fire-cracker of spirit and power, donning her mother's slightly less frizzy brown hair, and her father's steal gray eyes.

"So the usual?" he laughed. Since the war, Draco Malfoy hadn't changed. He was still just as proud, arrogant, and demanding as he ever was. There was no doubt in anyone's mind, however, that he was on the light side for keeps, but that didn't mean they wanted to spend quality time with the man. The only reason he and Harry were no longer rival enemies was for the simple fact that Harry saved his life—twice—on the battlefield. Once before he'd even switched sides; ever since Draco hadn't been able to kill Dumbledore all those years ago Harry had somehow known there was good in him.

"The stupid git," she groaned, slamming her quill down. Harry would have jumped had he not been used to it. Over the course of the war, Hermione and Draco developed a strong bond—a week after Voldemort was gone, they got married and some seven months later (no one asked questions) Iola was born. But their marriage would only last five years. Hermione just couldn't take his attitude anymore and left the Manor one cold winter morning, and she took their daughter with her. Draco tried in vein for custody, but it was a futile fight—he was an ex-Death Eater. The courts didn't even entertain the idea. "Do you know what he does every time Iola is at his place?"

Well trained, (i.e. having been married for eleven years) Harry shook his head.

"He's been coaching her on how to be in Slytherin. Slytherin! As if my baby girl would be anywhere but Gryffindor. It's just so like him, though. How does he expect to win me back when he continually does this shit?"

"Yeah, I—Wait. What? He's trying to get you back?" This was certainly a new one. Of course everyone knew that Draco still wanted to be with her, but to actually _try_? Hermione had made it perfectly clear six years ago that he'd had his chance and blew it. For nearly six months after the divorce she wouldn't talk to him, and barely looked him in the eye when they absolutely had to be around one another.

"It's his 'new thing'," she grunted, rolling her eyes. "It won't last. What does he want to be married again for anyway? All we ever did was fight."

"How long has he been trying?"

"Oh, I don't know." She ran her hands through her hair in agitation. "A year maybe."

"A year! Why didn't you tell me?"

"What's there to tell, Harry? It's ridiculous and will _never_ happen."

"I know, but still…What's he been doing?"

"Stopping by. Giving me stuff. Once he tried to kiss me, and I stress _once_. It's all rather pathetic. He even had the audacity to tell me we should be together for Iola's sake. Bloody ferret."

"Now don't insult ferrets."

Despite her more than foul mood, Hermione couldn't help herself and let a smile slip.

"I knew you were in there somewhere. Listen." He reached across the desk and grabbed her hand. "Bring Iola by our place tonight. Gin's making stir-fry and she's been trying to teach Lionel and Little Ronny to use chopsticks. It's hilarious." Harry and Ginny had also gotten married after the war, but had waited a year to have children. Ron, or Little Ronny as they called him because he was named after Ron, was the oldest at ten; Lionel was four and a half, the spitting image of Ginny, with flaming red hair and deep brown eyes. Little Ronny, oddly enough, looked just like Harry.

"Alright."

"Good." He stood and went to leave, but stopped in the doorway. "Ron and Luna are going to be there too. Have you seen her lately? I swear she's ready to pop."

"I thought she was only seven and a half months along."

"Yeah, but she's _huge_."

"Don't let Ron here you say that," Hermione warned. "He says she's gorgeous."

"And I agree," Harry chuckled. "But that doesn't mean she's not big too."

"I'll see you at six, Harry."

* * *

"No you can't have her tonight," Hermione hissed at her fireplace, where Draco's head floated, glowering angrily at her. "Harry invited us over for dinner. We're leaving in twenty minutes."

"It's my weekend with her, Hermione! You can't take that away from me."

"And who's going to stop me, huh Draco? The Ministry?"

Draco's lip snarled at this. Of course she was right. He had absolutely no clout in the magical world. One would think after thirteen years of loyalty he would be trusted. But no. Once a month, like clockwork, a Ministry official showed up at his house for an inspection. Sometimes he considered buying a deadly, man-eating (but perfectly legal) plant to ward them off. But he was far too indebted to them to do such a thing; after all, he was a free man.

"Besides, I'll have her at your house by eight."

"I want her the whole week, Hermione."

"You can't be serious? She goes to Hogwarts on Tuesday!"

"So she does," he snickered. "Well then, I guess I'll meet you at the train station."

"Draco," she warned.

"She's my daughter too. Plus, I think she's old enough to decide for herself."

"You are _unbelievable_!"

"But you still love me."

"Uh! Fine!"

"Brilliant. I'll see you at eight."

Hermione stormed out of the living room to finish getting ready. In all honesty, it didn't matter to her that Iola spent a few extra days with her father. Especially because he didn't know that the Hogwarts Headmaster had agreed to let her stay for the Sorting Ceremony. She would be the first to know which house Iola was in. And it just _had_ to be Gryffindor.

* * *

Four days later and Hermione watched, teary-eyed, as her only child boarded the Hogwarts Express. Even Draco found it hard to keep himself in check. Iola was all he had. How could she be gone now?

"So," Draco said, turning to Hermione after the train was out of sight. "What are you doing now? Running to the nearest owlry to send her a care package?"

"My plans are none of _your_ business, Draco."

"Very well," he sighed. "I guess I'll see you at the ceremony then."

And before she could respond, he'd Apparated out of there.

For the next few hours, Hermione tried to convince herself that Draco had been bluffing. Who in their right mind would let an ex-Death Eater into Hogwarts? But then she already knew the answer. She had married him after all. She had seen what small amount of good he had; and apparently so had the Headmaster.

By the time she reached the Great Hall, as stunning now as it had been her first year, Draco was already there, standing up by the teachers' table and chatting with the current Potions professor. Hermione made her way to the front and sat beside her longtime friend, Neville Longbottom, the Herbology professor. And he was simply brilliant at his job.

"I heard you might be here," Neville said with a toothy grin. "How have you been?"

"A nervous wreck," she laughed.

"That's right. Iola's first year. Is she excited?"

"She's been packed since August and hasn't slept in two days."

"Sounds like her mother," he laughed.

"Well that's better than her father."

"Talking slander again, sweetheart?" Draco called from across the table.

"It's not slander if it's true," she called back, just as falsely nice as he had.

"Well my next question was going to be if you and Malfoy had settled your differences," Neville said, giving her a warm smile. "But I think I just got my answer."

"Welcome students, new and old!"

Everyone looked up to see a fifty-something woman in velvety black robes at the podium. Her name was Channery Hutton; Headmaster of Hogwarts. She was beautiful to say the least, and the kindest person since Albus Dumbledore.

Soon, the Sorting Ceremony was under way. Hermione watched eagerly as jittery first years climbed onto that eerie-looking stool to be put into a house. Every time a Gryffindor was named, Hermione let out a great cheer. Draco did the same thing when a Slytherin got housed, but only to annoy her. He was only interested in Iola.

Finally, after eons, it was her turn.

"Iola Malfoy!"

The room went silent. Malfoy was a name everyone, even at the ages of these children, knew. But Iola ignored their eyes and with her head high, walked to the front and mounted the stood, not a scared bone in her body. Surely this meant Gryffindor. Draco had other thoughts in his head, however, thinking her as proud and determined; just the way he was at her age, and therefore Slytherin caliber.

"Interesting," Hermione heard the Sorting Hat murmur. She was just close enough. "You certainly are brave."

"I knew it," Hermione cheered silently.

"Yet you're cunning as a Slytherin."

Hermione bit her lip. No. No. No!

"Hmm…I'll have to say..."

Draco caught Hermione's eyes; they were both thinking the same thing. What if she didn't get into _their_ house?

"…Ravenclaw!" the Sorting Hat cried, and the table of Ravenclaws erupted into cheers.

After the ceremony Hermione snaked her way through the tiny bodies to find her daughter. Draco had somehow gotten to her sooner, and Hermione had her glare all ready, when she heard what he was saying to her.

"It doesn't matter that you're not in my house," he said, kneeling in front of her. "I wouldn't have cared if you were in mommy's house either. You're a Ravenclaw; that means you're smart, just like your mom."

"Iola honey," Hermione said, unable to keep her voice at bay. "You did great today. Congratulations."

With hugs and tears, Hermione finally forced herself to leave and let her daughter start her own adventures in Hogwarts. Draco followed her out and down to the gate where they could Apparate home.

"Listen," she said, pulling him to a stop some ten feet from off the grounds. "I heard what you said to Iola back there. It was…very big of you."

"I'm a good father, Hermione," he said with a shrug. "Besides, I never did care what house she was in. I haven't cared about that stuff in thirteen years. I'm not who I used to be."

"I can believe everything," she laughed, "expect that last part. You're just as arrogant and pig-headed as you were when I married you."

"Then why did you marry me?"

"Because," she sighed, and took his hand. "I loved you."

"And now?"

She smiled in a way Draco hadn't seen her smile in so long.

"I think six years in the doghouse is punishment enough."

"Are you saying—"

"Yes, Draco. I'll marry you again."

He enveloped her into a warm, tender hug and kissed her for the first time in six years, savoring the sweet taste of her lips and the perfect way she fit against him. He had been waiting so long for this he never wanted to let her go. Sure, when they were first divorced he counted himself lucky, thinking he'd been freed from Hermione's "insanity". But, only months later, he missed her terribly and ever since then he'd been trying, in one way or another, to win her back. It took him five years to pluck up the courage to suggest they start over. He almost wasn't going to, and after a year passed he figured he'd failed, again. But now it all seemed worth the wait.

"You know," she said as they finally reached the gate. "I was going to say yes all along."

"What!"

"But I couldn't miss a chance to see you squirm."

"Hermione! How the hell—"

"Oh shut up, Draco. Or I'll have to divorce you again." She snuggled close to him, her head on his shoulder, having not felt this happy in a long time. "By the way, the other night when I was leaving Harry's, Little Ronny gave Iola a kiss good-bye. I think she might have herself a boyfriend."

"What!" And his face couldn't have been more pale if Hermione had dumped paint over his head.

* * *

Short, sweet, and cute. Or so I hope :P

REVIEW! NOW!


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